Someone To Live For
by BBCBroadway
Summary: After Sherlock commits suicide, Molly dies in childbirth, leaving the child to John. But it isn't some stranger's baby; it's Sherlock's. 15 years later, still living in 221B Bakerstreet, John Watson lives a simple life as a single father. Miriam is growing up, a spitting image of her father. Things are as normal as one would imagine, that is, until they get a visitor from the dead.
1. Prologue

_John stared at his hands, tears blurring his vision, as the heart monitor went flat. The _

_falling and rising of Molly's chest stopped, and all signs of life from her face disappeared. First _

_Sherlock, now Molly. The only people John really cared for-gone. He had not hesitated or _

_asked questions when he got the call from her, asking him to be there. Although he had not _

_seen Molly for the last few months, he knew that she was pregnant. He did not ask who it was _

_with; that was her own business. He thought that it would be a happy ending for her. She _

_seemed so excited. But here he was, watching as the life left her eyes. Nurses were rushing _

_around, trying to do all that they could for her, but he knew it would not help. She was already _

_gone. They stared sadly at John. He watched as they covered her kind, soft face with a sheet, _

_and wheeled her out. He sat there, for what felt like hours, not wanting to realize what had _

_happened. Finally, a nurse walked in holding a small bundle of blankets, and headed towards _

_John. A look of confusion went over his face as she handed him the squirming bundle. A small _

_smile grew at the corner of the nurse's mouth "You're the one she listed as Miriam Holmes's _

_guardian"_

_John stopped, eyes growing wide as he stuttered "What-what did you say?" _

_The nurse arched her eyebrow "You're her guardian?" _

_John shook his head, "No… H-Her name.. Holmes?" _

_The nurse looked at him with confusion "Miriam Holmes" She handed him the bundle, _

_and left them alone. The baby woke with a muffled coo and opened her couldn't be… _

_She was Sherlock's? Sherlock and Molly… John slowly absorbed the information he had just received. He was the guardian of Sherlock and Molly's child. He studied her face and laughed. _

_Even though she had Molly's eyes, every other bit of her face was completely Sherlock. He _

_felt as if though he had been given a piece of him back. _


	2. Chapter 1

The Man with the Blue Eyes

One rainy saturday, John Watson sat in an old dusty chair near the window. He was holding a cup of steaming tea, and seemed to be in great thought. He was thinking about the day his life changed for the better. He was thinking of the day a little green eyed Holmes came into his life. Yes, he had lost his greatest friend, Sherlock, and Molly had died after that but in return, he gained a precious piece of them. Miriam, or Miri as John called her, was his saving grace after Sherlock died. To John, Sherlock was his purpose. His crazy "adventures" kept John on his toes, and kept his soul alive. When he died, John felt himself slip into the depression he had thought long gone. When Miri came to him, it disappeared..he had found his purpose again. He had found someone to live for.

She reminded him so much of Sherlock...thats what concerned him. No one knew that her father was Sherlock; not even Miri. That's how John wanted it. He didn't want her to know her father had committed suicide, or even that he had been famous. So, John changed her last name to Watson, and just told everyone that he had no idea who the father was. It was better that way, but he still felt ashamed that Miriam would never know who her father was. Downing the last bit of tea, he walked towards the door, slipping his raincoat on. It was time to go for a walk, a very long one, to visit an old friend.

Miriam sat, bored, and doodled on her finished homework. Every Saturday, her dad

would go out somewhere by himself. She was never invited along, and it often upset her that she didn't know where he had vanished too. She felt betrayed, and, although she would never admit it, hurt, by his secrecy. She often thought of following him like a spy, to see where he went, but for some reason, she never did. Why shouldn't I? She asked herself It can't be that hard… Besides, I would only see where he went. He would never know he was being followed! Finally making up her mind, she raced out the door just in time to see John walk across the street. She waited a while, till he was out of sight, and started pursuing him again. Miri weaved in and out of the London crowd as she tried to keep up with him but he was soon lost . She turned to leave, but ran straight into a tall man that stood behind her! Stuttering apologies, she looked up at him focusing on his piercing blue eyes.

"I believe your father went that way" He said, motioning to the left. Before she could thank him, he turned and walked away briskly. She started to turn to the left but she stopped, realizing what she had just heard. How did that man know I was following my dad? Her heart raced as she frantically searched for the man in the crowd. Had he been following her? Miriam nervously turned the direction that her dad had gone. She stopped. The curiosity was killing her. She trailed to the left, where the stranger had disappeared, worriedly taking a few steps in that direction.

He was a complete stranger! Her dad had always warned her of the danger of strangers and what-not. She could get into trouble, she knew, and yet… Making up her mind, she ran, dodging in between people, towards the man with the long coat. The wind whipped her hair as she ran, teasing it into knots. He was crossing the street, and she, after waiting a moment, followed him at a distance. The streets were getting busier, and it was hard to keep the stranger in her sight. She ducked around people, desperately trying to catch up with him. No! She lamented. He had disappeared into the crowd. She could not believe that she had lost him! Looking around, she realized how far she had chased him. She didn't recognize where she was at all! Trying to retrace her steps,She turned and ran a couple blocks, only to find herself in the middle of a busier street. Finally, she recognized a street sign, and felt confident that she could find her way home. Nevertheless, she was worried that she would not make it there before her dad came back. His mysterious meetings varied in time from a half hour to over three hours at times. There was no knowing how long he would be gone. She knew that her dad would freak out if he came home and found her gone. He was a great dad, really he was, but she couldn't help but feel smothered in his protectiveness at times. She began to jog home, thoughts of the blue-eyed, dark haired stranger filling her head.


	3. Chapter 2

_Marble Headstones_

John stared at the black, marble headstone that bore the name 'Holmes', not knowing what to say. It was strange, for one to talk to a headstone, but John found comfort in it. It almost felt like he was talking to Sherlock….almost. Sherlock was never one for listening, he only liked people to listen to him. John chuckled, thinking how Miriam had picked up that Holmes family trait. He often got calls home from teachers insisting that he discuss with her that she was not to run the class. Miri argued that if the teachers actually taught, she wouldn't have to. In fact, that was just one of the many traits that she had inherited from Sherlock: His stubbornness, intellect, and curiosity being among them.

Not only did she display Sherlock, but sweet Molly as well. She was kind hearted and beautiful like her mother. Sherlock would have loved that. John laughed again "You'd like her old friend, well...as much as you would ever like a child. She's very clever you know, not like other kids. She's very much like you" John smirked "Well.. she's more tolerable than you" John smiled recalling all the times he had threatened to move out because of his frustration with Sherlock. "I never know what she's going to do next! Once, I found her in the dumbwaiter, spying on a new neighbor!"

A saddened expression grew on his face "I wish you could have met her..Molly too...you both would have loved her so." John sighed, turning from the grave. It was time he got back to Miri. It was time to go back to the real world, and stop talking to headstones, he chastised. He knew that Miriam would find out the reason behind his disappearances soon enough. He knew he shouldn't be keeping it from her so long, but… He just wanted to keep her safe.


	4. Chapter 3

The Second Encounter

It was saturday morning. A week had past since her strange encounter. She had thought about it all week long. Her mind was always filled with thoughts, buzzing like white noise. She couldn't focus on anything else. It was raining outside; heavy clouds covered the sky. Although her thoughts had been focused on the stranger that she met last week, she hadn't been totally distracted from the original mission. She still wanted to know where her dad was going every Saturday. Finally, she decided to focus on that alone, and tried to forget the stranger.

Miriam was hoping that her dad would go on his mysterious errand today, so that she could follow, but she didn't know if he would; in the rain. All she could do was wait. She hated waiting. It was an utter waste of time. She flopped onto the floor, laid on her back and stared up at the ceiling. She groaned. She was _so bored! _"Miriam?" John called up the stairs.

"Yes?" She replied, trying not to sound excited.

"I'm going to go out for a while. Keep an eye on the house for me?"

"Alright dad," She grinned. "Uh, how long do you think you will be out?"

"An hour or so. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering…"

Miriam sat until she heard the door open, and click shut. Then she dashed to her closet, grabbed her coat, and snuck to the front door. Sher could just see her dad crossing the street. _This is it! I am finally going to see where he goes every weekend! _She opened the door, and carefully propped it open with a stone. She didn't have her own house key, and she didn't want to be locked out when she came back. She walked down the sidewalk to the crosswalk where her dad had crossed. He had just disappeared, walking on a sidewalk that wrapped around a building. She started walking. Everytime she got too close, she would stop and wait until he got further ahead of her.

She tried to memorize the directions they were going so that she didn't could run home later. _Acrossed the street, right, right left, right, left, left. _She repeated the directions to herself to memorize them. He had been walking for about 10 minutes, and she followed close behind. He turned left, and crossed the street, crossing right before the light turned. She didn't have time to get across. She knew that she should wait for the light to turn, but her dad was getting away! She could lose him again! She looked left and right, carefully timing her run. She dashed across the street. She looked around for her dad. _Bloody Hell. _She couldn't see him anywhere! She dashed a bit to the right, scanning for him, and then to the left. This was just brilliant. She couldn't follow someone for _10 minutes_ without completely screwing up! She collapsed on a park bench. _Great, _she thought. _She lost her dad, 10 minutes from home, and now it was raining. Life sucks. _She heaved a sigh, and observed the dark clouds. It looked as if a downpour was coming. She should get home, so that she had time to dry off before he came back. She prepared to get up, right as a man, with a long dark coat, and striking blue eyes, sat down next to her.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The Stranger

_Miriam_

"Bloody hell!" Miriam catapulted off the bench. Unfortunately for her, the ground was now quite slick with rain. Before she could even realize what was happening, her feet flew out from under her, and she found herself sprawled out on the wet grass. She groaned, and found a scrape on her elbow. "What the f-"

"Don't curse, said the stranger, cutting her off. "It's unbecoming."

"Excuse me," she sputtered, "but I think I have quite a right to curse!"

"Apologies, I didn't mean to scare you," He said, not sounding sorry at all. Miriam got up and tried to rub some mud out of her new jeans. She turned to face him. "Who are you?"

"Is your elbow okay?"

"Who the hell are you?" She yelled, not letting him distract her.

"You're bleeding." Miriam looked at her arm. He was right, she was indeed bleeding. Quite a lot, actually. "I can clean this up later. Right now, i want to know who the h-"

"I'm not going to talk to you while you are injured," He cut her off. "Besides, your father will be home soon. You will want to be there when he gets back." Without another word, he stood and began to walk away.

"Wait," She shouted. He turned.

"I'll be here next Saturday." He turned and disappeared. Miriam stared, speechless, her mouth open. Slowly, her mind came back to where she was, and what had just happened. She forced herself to focus on the present, knowing that she had to get home _now. _She dashed down the sidewalk, and kept running until she got home. She flew upstairs and into her bathroom, slamming the door.

"Miriam? Miriam, i'm home," her dad shouted.

"I'm in the bath," she yelled down, barely able to breath. She leaned against the door and sighed in relief. She turned to the mirror and grimaced. Rain made tracks down the dirt on her face. Her hair was an absolute disaster; it hung down in tangled, wet strings. Her clothes were ruined. Her long sleeved, sage green shirt, (one of her favorites), was streaked with mud. Red marred the elbow where she had gotten the nasty scrape. Her new jeans were ripped! She scowled in the mirror. Well, there really was no reason to be upset anymore; what happened happened, and she could not change that. So instead, she stripped and hopped into her shower, carefully wiping the mud from her face, and the blood from her arm. When she was finished, she bandaged her elbow, pulled on a long sleeved purple shirt that said _Check Yourself B4 You Wreck Yourself _anda pair of comfy jeans, and quickly tied her hair back in a loose braid. She disposed of her ruined clothing in a trash bag, and stuffed it in the bottom of the bathroom trash bin. She took a deep breath, tried to put on a "normal" face, and bounded down stairs. "Hey, dad, did you-" She stopped, see his face. He looked so… tired. "You okay?" She frowned. Her dad looked up. "Yeah, no, i'm fine. Just a little tired, I suppose."

"Do you need anything?" She asked, worriedly.

"No, no… I'm just going to be alone for a while." He got up and went into his bedroom. Miriam stood there, confused, wondering what could be wrong.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_John_

He collapsed on the bed, putting his head in his hands. He tried not to break down in front of Miriam, but it was so hard sometimes. He shouldn't be breaking down at all, really. It had been over 15 years, after all… He didn't understand how emotions like that could rise up in him some days, and he felt fine other days. It was usually triggered by the smallest things: a blue scarf, a man with dark curly hair, the bakery down the street.

Today it had been a field of lilies. He had bought lilies for Sherlock's funeral. It was something so very simple, and it had managed to bring him close to tears. He hated it. He hated that the emotions were able to rise up in him like a tidal wave. He hated that his daughter had to see it. He hated that she was the worst trigger. She, with her incredible resemblance to the friend he had lost. He flashed back to the advice that his counselor had given him. _Breath in, breath out. _Bloody stupid advice that was. It never helped. Letting out a deep sigh, he flicked the TV on, trying to distract himself. The news turned on, revealing a headline that announced a recent suicide. "God Dammit!" John yelled as he hurled the remote across the room, making a loud noise as it met the wall.

He cursed silently to himself as he walked over to the telly, flipping it off. Why did everything have to remind him of Sherlock? Why couldn't he move on with his life? He needed a distraction...someone or something that wouldn't remind him of Sherlock.

Gathering his coat, John slipped through the door. He couldn't see Miri. He knew that if he did, he would break down. Picking up his phone, he sent her a short text.

_Went out. Leftovers are_

_in the fridge. Might be out late._

_-Dad _

Miriam responded almost immediately.

_R u ok? Did I do something?_

_…__.What's wrong? _

_-M _

He shook his head, guilt rising up in his heart. Of course she knew something was wrong. It didn't take a detective to figure out that something was not right with him. But it was one that caused it. Still, her reply troubled him. Why would she think it was her that caused it? Yes, he had been rather distant with her in the past week, but he had never noted that he was upset with her! John's mind raced as he thought of Miriam, sitting home alone, feeling that her dad's despondent behavior was due to her. Not being able to bear the thought, he began to turn around to return home, but was stopped. Out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw….Sherlock walk by. Turning around John scanned the crowd of people, but as expected, saw nothing. Sitting down on the curb, John rubbed his head, breathing in and out. "You've lost it old chap!" John said to himself "You really have!" Noticing that a small group of people were beginning to stare at him with concern, John stood up and collected himself. Chuckling, he walked in the direction of a near pub. He was going to need something strong to clear his mind…very strong.

"Hey, man… You should probably stop…" A large man stood and looked at him from across the bar's counter. "Really, what does this make? Six?" It was actually his seventh, but John wasn't about to tell him that. He stared at his new drink. To be honest, he didn't even know what he was drinking. All he knew is that he had been sitting in the bar for three hours, ordering drink after drink. He felt like he was swimming underwater. He blinked hard to try and clear away some of the haze. He grabbed the new drink and took a long, satisfying glug of it. He couldn't think of any reason why he could not just stay right here. He felt nothing, and it felt amazing. He felt no longing for Sherlock, he felt no regret for Miriam, he was finally at peace.

While John motioned his wrist for another drink, a tall, thin man sunk into the seat next to him.

"Difficult day I presume?" the man asked, scooting in closer to him. John tried to focus on the face, but could only see a blurry outline of the man.

"One-might-say thaa" John tried to speak clearly, but his mind was blurred, and so was his speech. "...Why-do-people have hearts?" John asked.

"To stay alive, would be my guess" The man said sarcastically.

"No-no, why do-we have to care about people so much? Why do we have-to-to miss people, and worry about them-why can't we act like Sherlock?" John replied.

"Sherlock Holmes?" The man asked "Why, he was a heartless fellow I suppose.."

"That's what everyone thought" John chuckled, liquor making his tongue heavy " But-I knew Sherlock Holmes-and there were times-when he did seem to care-but-he hid it well." John hiccupped, and a dazed look grew in his eyes.

"Don't you have a daughter to be attending too?" the man asked

"Well-she really isn't mine." He hiccupped "I love her…very much...but-I can't help feeling that she'll never fully be…mine. A piece of her will always belong-to-them. And it kills me-I'll never be enough for her" Tears began to form at the corner of John's eyes, and for a second, he did remember. For a second, the spell of the alcohol wore off, and John's mind was filled with images of Miri, all by herself, wondering where her father had gone.

"Oh god," John said, holding his head "I have to get back to her-she doesn't know where I am." With a knowing nod, the man got John out of his seat, and grabbed his arm to steady him. As they stepped outside, the man tightened his blue scarf, and they started off in the direction of Bakerstreet.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Dad?" Miriam gasped. John was standing on the threshold of the house, swaying as he tried to walk forward. He was alone. "What the hell!"

"Miriam, I… I'm so… "

"Dad, what the hell is going on!" She rubbed her arm over her eyes; she could feel the sting of tears. He was drunk. Her dad was drunk. She'd seen lots of people drunk, and John maybe get a little lightheaded at parties…but she'd never seen him practically wasted_. _Intense emotions rose up as she realized what had happened. Fear, rage, disbelief. She couldn't dwell on any of them, yet, she thought, ever practical. "Let's get you inside, okay?" She grabbed her dad's arm, and led him, stumbling, into the kitchen. After helping him into a chair, she grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it at the tap. "Here." She said, offering it to him. "Drink some water."

"Miriam, I am so sor-"  
"Stop, dad, just drink it. I don't want to hear anything right now; you're drunk." Her dad took the glass in his shaking hands. Some of the water shook over the side and dripped onto the table, but he didn't seem to notice. "I-I didn' mean…" He spoke in stuttering sentences. "I jus' couldn'… I though' tha' it would stop if i jus'… I am so sorry… I never meant to drink so much…" He choked up. Miriam tried not to cry. She walked over and helped up her dad. He had barely sipped any of his water, but she knew that the best thing was for him to sleep it off. She helped him upstairs. It took almost 10 minutes to get him to his room; he went so slow. She laid him down in bed, taking off his shoes. He looked like he was already asleep. She flipped off the light, and crept out.

Miriam stood and stared at her dad's door, her vision blurring with tears that she finally allowed to fall. _Stop, _she mentally shook herself. _Don't be so weak! You're overreacting. _But she couldn't stop. She ran to her room, and slammed the door. Grabbing the nearest thing she could find, (which happened to be her table lamp), she threw it with as much force as she could. It shattered against the wall, sending shards of glass everywhere. She screamed in rage. Dropping to her knees, she began to violently pick up shards of broken glass and tossing them into her trash bin. "Shite!" She yelled, and clutched her hand to her chest. Blood was welling up from a deep cut in her palm.

She cried and cried, holding her hand to her shirt. She eventually got up and stumbled to the bathroom so that she could stop the blood. She stopped a moment to stare at her reflection. Mascara made tracks down her red face. Her hair was a wreck. In scope of today's events, however, she didn't care that she looked like crap. After tightly wrapping her hand, she tripped back to her room and fell on her bed. She didn't bother cleaning up the glass; she couldn't even bring herself to turn off the lights. She stared at the ceiling. What was wrong with her? Why had her dad done that? He had seemed a little more distant lately, but she would never have thought that he would resort to drinking. Was it… Was it her? Did she do something wrong? That must be it. She did something that set him off. This was all her fault! Tears rolled down her face onto her pillow. She felt like such a failure. She was supposed to protect her dad; she was all he had. He was all that she had… But right now, she felt like she had nothing.

Somehow, in between all her crying, she fell asleep. The previous night's events were like a black cloud hanging over her. She peeked at the clock. 6:30am, it read. She doubted that her dad was up, but she went and checked anyways. He was snoring slightly, and tangled in his sheets. She heaved a sigh, but refused to let her emotions get the best of her again. She walked purposefully to the kitchen, retrieved a glass of orange juice and some aspirin, and placed both on her dad's bedside table.

After a moment, she added a note that said: _Went out. Be back later. _She quickly put on some clothes, brushed her teeth, and applied some makeup. She still looked tired, and there were deep purple marks under her eyes. She took a peek under the bandage on her hand and winced. It was angry red, and looked pretty deep. _Is it deep enough to get stitches? _It didn't matter much anyways, seeing as her dad couldn't so much as get out of bed. She grabbed her coat and went outside, taking her dad's house key with her. She honestly didn't know where she was going; she just started walking.

She had her phone, and a key, and didn't care where she ended up as long as it was away from there. She needed to collect herself. She didn't realize where she was going until she stopped. She was standing in front of the park bench where she had talked to the blue-eyed stranger. She sat down. She loved being alone with her thoughts, but today she wanted someone- anyone- to talk to. She had no one. Normally, she would confide in her father, but today, that was not an option.

How could he? Yes, she had seen him have a few drinks at parties, and he might have acted a little silly, but last night...he could hardly speak. It was so unlike him! He never did anything like that! Occasionally, he would become gloomy, but he never ignored her, or left her alone! Miriam couldn't help but blame herself! _Maybe….Maybe it would be better if he didn't have to worry about me. _Tears pricked at her eyes like hot needles. Miri stood up, knees shaking. It felt like a hole formed in her stomach, and she grew nauseous. A sweat broke out on her forehead, and she was tempted to sit down. Taking a deep breath, she strode forward. She needed to get away, at least for a little while. She wasn't ready to hear her dad's excuses, or his apologies.

She thought about how overprotective her father was, and how he shadowed every movement she made. She couldn't do anything without him being there, yet he was always in a shroud of secrecy. _What was he hiding? _Growing up, she remembered times when he would become like a ghost, never eating, never speaking, and barely even looking at her. Yet, eventually, he would always come back to life; he was happy again. Miri dreaded those few times. She always felt it had something to do with her, but he had never done something as dramatic as he did last night. Plucking her cellphone from her pocket, she opened it, looking at the time. It was getting close to sunset, but John still hadn't tried to call her, or text her. Hoping he was still asleep, she carried on. She had managed to walk around town several times since she started, but she still could not bring herself to go home. Returning to the park bench, Miriam sat and studied her hand. The deep gash had turned from a bright red, to a scarlet, oozy mess. Miri tried to touch it, but shied away when she felt it sting and burn at her touch. As she re-wrapped it, her phone finally buzzed.

_Where are you? How _

_Long have you been gone? _

_please come home….we need to talk._

_-Dad _

"Damn right we need to talk!" Miri fumed. Ignoring the text, she shoved the phone back in her pocket. The sun had set, and night had begun to fill the streets. She grew nervous as less and less people began to walk by, and soon, she was all alone. Of course, Miri could always phone her dad, and he would be there in seconds…but she didn't want that. She wanted to go to her dad on her own terms. _He deserves to worry! I've worried enough for him…_

Miriam yawned, fatigue beginning to creep up on her. She needed to think of a plan. It was getting dark, and cold, and she was getting a bit worried. She had never felt so lonely. She really wished that she could talk to someone about her dad, but he was the only one that she ever had to talk to. She needed someone to just listen. She didn't want anyone to put their insight on it, or try and analyze the situation, she just wanted someone to listen! As Miri thought, she realized who this needed to be. Someone she hadn't visited in a very long time. Her mother. John always made Miriam visit her mother's grave when she was younger but as she got older, John left the decision up to her. Miri didn't know her mother and frankly John filled both roles as a parent. She knew that her mother loved her, and it turn, she should love her...but how could she? She wanted too…she really did. But how could she love someone that she had never met? That always troubled Miriam and perhaps, that's why she stopped visiting her grave. She always felt guilty as a child when she would stand at her mother's grave. She wanted to love this woman...a woman that had given her life for her-she just couldn't. _Maybe I will someday. _As Miriam dwelled on the thought, she strode forward in the direction of the cemetery.

When she got to the grave, she was shocked. She expected it to be overgrown, and unkempt because no one had been there, yet it was clean, and a bouquet of pansies was propped up against it. Kneeling down next to the grave, she nervously began to talk.

"Hi… mom...?" Miriam nervously said to the gravestone. "I know I haven't come to visit you for...well... a really long time, but I'm here now." Miriam sighed "Look...to be honest, I haven't needed too." Miriam winced as she realized how rude that sounded…even if she was only talking to a gravestone "No-not like that...it's just that dad; John, has been there for me for everything else!" Miriam's tone darkened "Well...that is until now. Dad well- I'll spare you the details- but I can't talk to dad about this. I can't even talk to him about anything right now." Her face grew saddened "He's just-I don't know...sometimes I feel that he wishes his life was different. That he didn't have to worry about me." staring quietly at the stone, Miri fixed the bouquet of flowers.

"How unfortunate" A voice spoke. Miriam jumped, and turned to face the speaker. It was him. She gave a little cry. Her heart pounded.

"Are you serious? How many times are you going to scare the hell out of me by just appearing like this?" She panted, and tried to slow her breaths.

He didn't seem to hear her. "Love," he sighed. "It's quite a laughable concept, really. Soul mates, and true love… It just seems so illogical. It's so breakable. What is the point of caring for someone if you have no guarantee that they will not leave you? Love doesn't last, life doesn't last. People die and people leave you. " He didn't seem to catch himself rambling. "Love isn't something you can get a warranty on, you know," she replied. He smirked.

"But wouldn't it be great if you could…" It was a statement, not a question.

"I suppose you're right, though. There is too much to lose. But what will you gain if you don't take risks?"

"You gain nothing," He replied. "But you don't lose anything either; you don't get hurt." Miriam met him with silence, not knowing what to say. He spoke again. "Come along, Miriam. Let us talk for a while." They walked out of the cemetery together.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions" Miri rolled her eyes at the obvious comment, causing the man to stare at her disapprovingly. He continued anyway "Who I am, why I am following you..." Miriam nodded. She was tired of this mystery. "My name, I cannot say, but I used to work with your father, so I'm no stranger to him anyways. Why am I following you? Well...to help you I suppose." Miriam stared at him in disbelief.

"That's it?" She asked, disbelief thick in her voice "That is all you're going to tell me?"

"Probably," he said, simply. He stared at the sky, observing the stars..

"No." She said.

"What?"

"I said no. You've practically stalked me for the past few weeks, and you somehow know all about my dad and me. I need answers, and I am not leaving until you give them to me."

"You're stubborn," He replied smiling softly. "Just like your mother…" His smile was countered by a sadness that filled his eyes.

"You knew my mom?"

"I did. I knew her quite well."

"So, you know my dad, and you knew my mom. What are you, some sort of long lost family friend?"

"Something like that." He smiled.

"What else?" She demanded softly.

"Let's see, I used to be somewhat famous, I suppose… Your dad and I were partners in business."

"What business?"

"We were… Detectives of some sort."

"You mean when dad used to be a cop? He told me that he used to be in the army serving as a doctor, and then when he came home, he became a cop. He retired shortly after and adopted me… I know all of this. You're saying that you worked with him?"

"He said he was a cop?" The man laughed. "Well, I suppose that's an easier explanation. So yes, your dad and I worked together as…cops." He paused, nostalgia in his eyes.

"So, what happened?" She continued to press him for more information. He sagged in his seat, depression filling his features. "I think you should ask your father that," He whispered.

"You're right…" Miriam glanced up at the lightening sky. "I need to get back to him. He has probably called the police by now. Oh, hell, I'm going to be in so much trouble." She quickened her pace to a jog. . "I am not through with you," she smiled and turned towards him. "I still want more answers." He stood up as well, and they faced each other. He held out his hand, and Miriam shook it with hers.

As their hands met, she gasped and yanked it hand back, wincing. In the midst of the chaos, she had forgotten the deep cut on her hand. "What is wrong?" The man inquired, his voice concerned.

"Nothing, I'm fine," she replied.

"Are you hurt?"

"It's just a cut. I'm fine."

"Let me see your hand," he demanded. She complied, and gingerly set her hand in his. He gently unwrapped the bandages that she had applied earlier that day. She gasped. Her palm was an angry red, and the cut looked worse than she had thought. "How did this happen?" The man demanded.

"It was just a bit of glass. I should have been more careful. I am fine, though, really… I will clean it up better when I get home."

"You are going to need stitches. This cut is very deep."

"I don't need stitches," she argued, but the man was already flagging down another cab. He gave instructions to the driver in a low voice, and then turned to her.

"Get in. The driver is going to take you to the hospital. When you get there, call your father." He opened the door. Normally, Miriam would have protested, but she was exhausted, and she knew that arguing would get her nowhere with this man. She had no choice but to do what he asked. She slid into the back seat of the cab, and shut the door.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_John_

"She's where?" John gasped and nearly dropped his phone.

"She just arrived by cab, sir. She has a very deep cut on her palm, and will need stitches. She gave us this number to call."

"Oh God…" John was seized by fear. "She's alright, though?"  
"Yes, sir, she is fine." Joh relaxed slightly, but fear still gripped him.

"I will be right there," he replied. No sooner had he spoken the words, he was out the door and hailing a cab. He gave the cabbie directions to the hospital where Miriam was at, and rested his head against the seat. He had been so afraid. When he had woken up a few hours ago, with a splitting headache, he had seen her note. He didn't know how long it had been there. He texted her right away, but she never replied. John couldn't believe what he had done. He had come home in the night, drunk, and she had taken care of him. He groaned. She probably thought that it was her fault that he had gotten drunk. He didn't call the police, hoping that she would come home, but when the sky grew dark, he began to panic. Although he called them, the police said that they wouldn't send out a search until she had been missing at least twelve hours. He had been up pacing by the phone most of the night, hoping that she would walk in the door at any moment. That was when he had gotten the call from the hospital.

He was a failure. A failure as a father, and as Miriam's protector. This was all his fault. He was supposed to keep her safe! He was supposed to be a role model to her, and look what had happened. She ran away, and was in a hospital while he was suffering from a hangover.

When the cab pulled in front of the hospital, John lept out, barely stopping except to throw cash at the driver, and raced inside.

"Miriam Watson?" He asked the nurse at the desk. She typed on her computer. His foot was tapping nervously and his fingers drummed on the desk. The nurse's eyebrow shot up, but she kept typing. She took no longer than a few seconds, but to John it felt like hours.

"Ahh..right here" She said as the typing ceased. "She is getting stitches right now, sir, but she should be finished in a few minutes. I'm sorry..are you a relative?" John shook his head.

"Father...or rather..guardian" The word guardian felt like a punch in the gut to John. To him, Miriam felt like his child, but to the world he would always be that meaningless word; guardian.

"She will be put in room 204 when she wakes up." The nurse replied

John didn't stop to thank her; he took the elevator to the 3rd floor, and quickly found her room. There was no one in it. She must not be finished getting stitches, he realized. In a panicked frenzy, He found another nurses station.

"Excuse me, ma'am," John inquired. "My daughter is getting stitches. Am I allowed to see her?"

"Are you family?"

"Yes' I'm her father."

"Well," She replied. "You will not be able too, as the surgery is going on, but you may see her afterwards. I believe that they are using local anesthesia, so she should be awake during the entire procedure, and you won't have to wait for her to come out of an anesthesia."

"Where?"

"Go down this hall, and turn left. There is one of the surgery rooms for minor injuries. She should be in there. You can wait outside until a doctor comes. They will probably move her to a room afterwards, but she should be able to leave within an hour."

"Thank you." John walked down the hall, and sat outside the room. This was torture. He knew that she would be fine, and wasn't worried. But he couldn't hardly bring himself to face her; not after what had happened. The worst part was being stuck with his thoughts. How had she gotten cut? He tried not to think about it, but it was constantly there, pressing in the back of his mind. Had he… Had he hurt her? He tried to believe that he would _never_ hurt his daughter, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember what had happened while he was drunk. He vaguely remembered stumbling home, and thought that someone was helping him, but he couldn't form a picture in his head. He didn't remember anything after that. He rested his still aching head against the wall, and felt his eyes sting with tears. How was he going to face her? The door to his left opened. He lept up, quickly wiping his eyes clean of tears. "Excuse me," he said to the man who had just walked out. "My daughter just got stitches in there. Is she finished?"

"Are you Miriam Watson's guardian?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well," He said, looking down at the papers he held. "She just finished surgery, and is awake. We decided to use a local anesthetic to just numb her hand. She is about to be moved to room 204, to wait for instructions on how to care for stitches, and to receive her pain medications for her to use over the next few days. She should be able to leave within the hour. " The door opened again, and Miriam stepped out. John let out the breath that he had not realized he had been holding, and gazed at his daughter's appearance. She looked exhausted. Her eyes looked heavy, and dark circles were painted underneath them. Her usually neat hair was not so neat. His gaze shifted down. Her right hand has covered in a stark white bandage. In her eyes he could see a mix of emotions, a bit of resentment, confusion, and sadness, but mostly relief. Moving towards her, he wrapped her small figure into a tight hug, being careful to avoid hurting her hand. After a moment, she returned the embrace. They said nothing as they walked together into room 204. They said nothing as a nurse came in and gave Miriam her pain medications, and instructions on how to care for her stitches. They said nothing as they left the hospital building, and hailed a cab. Finally, when they had walked through the door of their house, Miriam quietly murmured something. "Dad, i'm so sorry." John's heart dropped, and he choked back tears.

"No, no, Miriam. I am sorry. I should never have done what i did. Im sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

"Well," She said, looking at her hand. "I guess what we both did cancel each other out." John smiled, but it soon vanished as his eyes trailed to where Miriam was looking; Her hand. Could he? Could he have hurt her?

"Miriam…" He began. "What happened to your hand?" Miriam frowned.

"It was an accident, really, dad. I was just so mad, and I should have been more careful. I threw my lamp…" John sagged in relief.

"You cut it on your lamp?"

"Yeah…" She replied. John sighed and pulled Miriam into another hug. This time Miriam returned the embrace immediately. She buried her head into his chest, and John heard a muffled sob. Burning tears pricked at his eyes. _No. I have to be strong for her. _John pulled her into a tighter embrace. Leading her over to the couch, they sat down. They didn't say much, for there was no need to. John could tell that Miriam was still troubled by his behaviour, but it seemed that she had forgiven him. There was no need to bring up the matter..at least not now. They both sat in silence, until they drifted off to sleep. At last, they were peaceful.

It had been over 3 hours when John finally woke up. He immediately turned to Miriam. She was still asleep, curled up beside him. He carefully got up, and walked to the kitchen. He was still suffering slightly from his hangover. He grabbed the orange juice from the fridge, poured a glass, and drained it. Then he took some ibuprofen to ward off the last of his headache. When he walked back into the living room, Miriam was staring at him. "How is your hangover?" She asked. John felt the familiar sensation of shame wash over him.

"It's fine. Almost gone. How are you feeling?"

"I am still tired, and my hand hurts, but i'm fine." Carefully cradling her hand in her lap, she stared off out the window. John studied her for a moment, then sat and faced her. "Miriam...we need to talk about what happened."

"I know." Miri said, snapping out of her daze "You go first." She turned to look at him, her eyes full of determination.

"Alright, then…" He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Well...I got drunk."

"Well, duh." Miriam said rolling her eyes. "Seriously, dad? Come on, you didn't just go out and get drunk for no reason!" She stared at him, demanding answers.

"Miriam… I just… I can't." He sighed and looked away.

"Please, dad."

"Miriam, I can't. Not yet, not now," He said more firmly.

"You can't be serious! I can't believe you!"

"Please, just let this go! I will tell you, i swear, but this is not the time." Miriam fumed, but dropped the issue. "Fine."

"Your turn," he pressed. She sighed, and told him the story. By the time she was finished, he was bursting with questions.

"Woah, wait, stop! Some random guy just happened to find you in the cemetery, and get you in a cab to go to the hospital! Bloody hell, Miriam! Do you even realize how dangerous that is?"

"I… Well, he wasn't a complete stranger entirely…" John could hardly believe his ears.

"What do you mean you knew him? Oh my God, Miriam… Who the hell is this guy!?"

"Um, well… he's followed me before." John's eyes seemed ready to pop out of his eyes "I mean! I've met him before! This isn't the first time we've ran into each other!..he also said… well he said that he's your old partner."

"What?" John didn't understand. Miriam continued.

"He said that he knew you and mom. He also said that you guys used to work together, before you retired." John froze. His heart felt as if it were about to explode from his chest. Miriam didn't notice the change in his posture, however, and continued on.

"He said that he was somewhat famous, but that something happened between you and him… He wouldn't tell me what." John felt as if he could barely breath. His voice shook.

"W-what did he l-look like?" He whispered. Miriam looked at him confused and concerned.

"Um, curly dark hair, and blue eyes. He wore a long, black trench coat, and a blue scarf." She paused. "Dad?" John could not answer. He was gasping, and he felt dizzy. He shook all over. No… It couldn't be true…

Sherlock was alive.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

A Familiar Stranger at the Door

Miriam stared at her dad in utter confusion. His face had paled, and his fists were clenched in a tight ball. He seemed to be in shock. He started to gasp, as if he was suffocating, and Miriam leapt off of the couch.

"Dad?" Miriam shouted, "Dad! What is wrong with you!?" Miriam yelled even louder, trying to break him from his trance. He lifted his head to acknowledge her, but didn't speak. Miriam contemplated her options. She didn't think that he needed to go to the hospital, but she didn't know what had brought on this strange behavior. Was he sick? She didn't think so, but he was shivering quite a bit… She went and grabbed a blanket. "Dad, are you cold?" He nodded, but continued to breathe heavily. At least she had gotten a reaction from him. She draped the blanket over him. "What is wrong?" She tried again, but before he could answer, a knock sounded on the door. Miriam frowned, confused.

Running to the front door, she swung it open, "Oh thank god! Mrs. Hudson! You have to-." She stopped mid-sentence, realizing that it was not Mrs. Hudson that had knocked on the door.

"Hello, Miriam." Miriam's eyes widened. Standing in the hallway, cloaked in a long black trench coat, and a blue scarf, was him. . She was left speechless for a moment, only able to mutter her signature "What the hell"

As if waking from a daze, she snapped into focus, shaking her head. "Um, how nice to see you…" She said panicked. This was all she needed right now. "You know how much I love your cryptic words and antagonizing nature, but I can't really talk right now." As she spoke, she heard a loud thud coming from the living room. "My dad is kind of having a mental breakdown right now." She began to close the door, but stopped. "And how to hell did you find my house?" She demanded.

"A mental breakdown?" The man said, seemingly ignoring her previous questions "I suppose that is that exact theme of why I am here." He paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. "I think that I may be able to help your father."

Rolling her eyes, she began to shut the door. "Sorry, but I tend to not make it a habit of letting strangers in" As it close, he blocked it with his foot.

"When did your father begin to exhibit these symptoms?" He asked.

As he spoke, another crash sounded from the living room.

"Seriously? I do not need this right now! Besides, I highly doubt you can help him." He didn't move. She groaned.

"Fine! Um, it was just a few minutes ago when we were talking… We were talking about…" She paused, and frowned. "We were talking about you…"

"Hmm. Not the exact reaction I expected," He said to himself. "Anyways, please. Let me in. I do think I can help him." Realizing it was no use arguing with him, she hesitantly backed out of the way so that he could pass. Miriam watched as he strode into her living room.

Her dad glanced up, and then did a double take. He gasped, jumping up from the couch, his face twisting into shock as if he'd seen a ghost. He stood for a moment, staring at the man standing in the door, as if he were hallucinating.

"Hello, John" The man said, a smug smile forming at his mouth. John stood still, as if he was frozen to the spot. Miriam's eyes darted between the two. John's face, once pale, was beginning to grow redder and redder.

"Dad." Miriam said cautiously "What's going on?"

Suddenly, John strode forward, the blanket draped on his shoulders falling. John stood in front of him, staring into his eyes. With all the force he could muster, John balled his fist, and slammed it into the man's jaw.

"You Bastard!" John yelled, a vein practically popping out of his head. "What the hell is going on?! You show up at my house after 15 years! Everyone thought you were dead, Sherlock! Do you know the pain you've brought everyone?

"John, please," said the man, Sherlock as he rubbed his jaw.

"I did what I had to…"

"What the hell does that mean? People don't just fake-kill themselves! You had better make sense, because I swear I will punch you in the goddamn face again you-" John broke off, and began towards Sherlock again. Miriam acted, and leapt in front of him, trying to push him back. He barely registered that she was there; He kept struggling towards Sherlock.

"Dad, stop!" Miriam begged him.

He didn't respond. "Do you know the hell I've been through? I should just kill you myself!" As he yelled, he shoved Miriam aside. She didn't have time to adjust her balance and fell to the floor with a cry. Just like that, John seemed to snap out of his rage, and turned to her. "Miriam, oh my god, I'm so sorry." He helped her up gently, and moved her aside. He was still breathing heavily, and his face was masked with rage and pain, but he no longer tried to attack Sherlock. He suddenly turned and walked out of the living room. Miriam heard him bedroom door slam. She turned to Sherlock, speechless. "Well…My…Sorry…but what the hell just happened?"

"Well… I think your father is holding a bit of resentment for me at the current moment."

"You think?"

"I can't understand why," He contemplated. "I… I thought he would be pleased to see my. Why is he so upset?"

"Well," Miriam replied. "I'm not really sure either, as no one will freaking tell me what the hell is going on!" Sherlock was silent. Miriam could hear shouts coming from her dad's bedroom, and loud banging as though he were kicking that wall.

"I agree that you need to know," he said to her. "But right now we need to help your father. It will be better if he can explain it as well." Miriam frowned, but could not argue with his logic. She was sick and tired of all of the secrecy, but she was more worried about her dad.

"Okay, fine, whatever." She grimaced, hating herself for agreeing with the antagonizing Sherlock

"Please wait here." Sherlock said, as he strode to her father's door. She turned and began pacing. Back and forth. It helped her think. _Why will no one tell me what's going on? And why am I getting a bad feeling that a lot of this has to do with me? _


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

She Must Know

"John?" Sherlock's voice came from outside of his door. John felt as if his head would explode. He simply could not wrap his mind around the fact that Sherlock was alive. 15 years of thinking that he was dead. Thinking that he had killed himself. Thinking that it was all his fault. Every day he had to live without him, living instead with the overwhelming guilt that he had left behind. And Miriam. He had to watch her grow up, looking more and more like her father. It hurt worse and worse every day. And now he was here. Alive. The shock of it all was unbearable.

"John. Please." Sherlock's voice came again. He didn't want to see him. He didn't want to hear him. He was consumed by rage and hatred for the man who had hurt him like that. Who had left him, who had deceived him. But he was also consumed by an overwhelming happiness. His friend was alive.

Knowing Sherlock wouldn't go away, he walked slowly to the door, opening it. They both stood staring at each other for a few moments. Those few moments felt like hours. John stared at his friend, and Sherlock stared back. Then he backed away from the door, allowing Sherlock to enter. Sherlock strode across the floor to the opposite side of the room and sat on John's bed. John almost laughed. Sherlock, acting like he owned the world. The familiarity of it was like a slap in the face, like nothing had ever changed. But everything had changed.

John brought himself back to reality, and shifted his gaze to focus on Sherlock's face. He looked expectant. He looked as if he were waiting for John to yell at him. So John did. "What. The. Hell," He began. His voice rose in volume as he spoke. "How could you do this? You were dead, I saw you. I buried you! I stood at your grave every single day for a year! Do you know how guilty I felt? How I thought that everything-everything- was my fault? No… You don't. You are not capable of emotions, Sherlock, because if you were, how could you do that to me? To Molly? To Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and… and… Miriam...Your daughter. How could you just abandoned your daughter? I spent every single day watching her grow up to look and act more and more like you. Every day it was a slap in the face for me, and she grew up wondering why I would try to avoid her. Because of you. I had to see you die, and then I had to watch Molly…" He paused, trying to steady his shaking voice. "Where were you? Did you even love her? Did you even care that she died? She died, and I was all alone. _You_ left me all alone. Sherlock…" His voice broke. He was crying now, even though he tried so hard not to. Sherlock was straight-faced, but in his eyes... Even after 15 years, John could still remember the normal look in Sherlock's eyes: Ignorance, arrogance, self-absorption. None of that was there now. Instead, they were replaced by looks of immense sadness and regret. One who did not know Sherlock would not see the emotions in his eyes, but John did.

He took a deep breath and sat across from Sherlock in a chair. "Will you please, tell me what happened, Sherlock? No lies, please. I need to know _right _now." He stop, and took one shaking breath after another.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock began. There was a slight tremor in his voice. "I never wanted this to happen. I needed to die, to protect you, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly… But I needed to stay alive to protect you as well. It was Moriarty, John… We were caught in a battle of minds, and he won. He used you against me. He used the people I care about… I told you that being alone protected me, and I was right. But I ignored my own advice, and I had to sacrifice my life, for the life of my friends. Well, pretended to sacrifice myself, anyways. I had to fake my death so that I could be sure that you would all be safe, and that Moriarty would not go against his word." He paused, and John spoke.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't. I needed it to be real to you. If anyone knew that I was alive, Moriarty's men would have found out and they would have killed you. I had to "die". It was either me or my friends. If there were any other ways, John… I would have told you. I would have, John, I swear."

"And Miriam? How could you abandon her?"

"You know that I'm not really father material, John. I love her, and I have watched her grow up from a distance. But you are her father. You have been there for her, not me. I can't just come into her life after 15 years and claim ownership. To her, I would never be her real father"

"And… and Molly?"

"Please, John. Don't make me talk to you about her. I loved her, John. More than you think I am capable of loving…" His voice broke. "And I had to watch her die, without being able to comfort her, to tell her how much I loved her… I let her die thinking that I was dead. And I will be haunted for the rest of my life by that. Just as I will be haunted by what I have put you through." He stopped, his face masked with pain. John stood and walked to sit by Sherlock on the bed. They sat there for a long time.

"She has to know," John murmured, minutes later. Sherlock stared at him with confusion. "She has to know that you're her father. We can't let her be clueless forever. She has the right to know." Sherlock shook his head.

"I agree, John. She must know." He paused. "But must she know right _now?"_ John gave him a look. "Alright," Sherlock replied. "Let's get this over with." It's for the better.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sherlock's match

_Sorry for the delay of chapters, and I'm sorry if this one suffers severe grammatical mistakes. All of these chapters were written last year, so going back and editing has been a pain. This one is a little sloppy. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, and I will try and get better at posting more! Enjoy and PLEASE leave reviews! We love reading them. _

_-Anna _

It had been over an hour since Sherlock had gone in to talk to John.

Miriam had heard lots of yelling at first, but then, it quieted down, and she could hear nothing but whispers. _This is ridiculous! What the hell is going on, and why won't anyone tell me? _Miriam paced back and forth in front of the couch, waiting for something to happen. Finally, she heard the click of her father's door as emerged from the room. John's face was red; from anger or crying she knew not. She desperately wanted to know what was going on, but she was more worried about her father.

"Dad? You alright?" He nodded and smiled slightly at her. Well, now that she was sure her dad was not having a mental breakdown. "Will someone tell me what is going on?" Miriam asked. This time she wouldn't accept anything but the truth. John sat down next to her, Sherlock occupying the seat across from them. Miriam stared at them both, waiting for one to speak.

"Miriam…" Sherlock spoke, breaking the silence. He looked back and forth between her and John "Your father has something to tell you" John shot him a look of protest, but turned to Miri anyway. He felt like having Sherlock talk to her was a bad idea… This was a delicate situation, and Sherlock was pretty much the opposite of delicate. No, John had better break the news.

"Miriam...well…Sherlock is an old friend of mine and-"

"And my mother's, yes, I understand that. What I want to know is WHY you practically had a mental break down when I mentioned him to you! And, why you attacked him when you saw him!" Sherlock rubbed his jaw in remembrance as Miriam spoke on. "Dad-I just want the truth! You've hidden a lot of things from me! I know that! And, for a long time, I've waited. Waited for you to tell me." She paused " Well...I'm done waiting. I need to know what the hell is going on, and I need to know it now. No more 'I can't do this right now Miri'." Miriam did a high squeaky impression of John, Sherlock's amusement."Yes you can, and you are going to." A smug grin tugged at the edges of Sherlock's mouth as he looked at John. John's jaw was slightly dropped, and a look of confusion was spread across his face. He had never heard his daughter speak to him like that. She reminded him so much of Sherlock in that moment, that he couldn't resist smiling slightly. Knowing he could not escape an explanation this time, He began to speak.

He told her the whole story. From the day he met Sherlock, to the day he thought he watched Sherlock throw himself off the side of the hospital building. John told Miriam about her mother. He told her things he had never told her. He told her everything, including information about her real father. When he was done, he mentally prepared for an explosion. Looking up from his lap, he stared at his daughter. She was not looking at him. She was looking at Sherlock. A flood of emotions played over her features, and John watched as they changed from disbelief, to shock, to anger. Finally, after moments of silence, Miriam spoke is gasping breaths.

"You-you-asshat!" John felt his eyes widen, and he muffled a laugh, trying to cover it with a cough. Laughing now was like the same as giggling at a funeral, or a crime scene. Sherlock gave her an offended look. His face was laced with discomfort at being caught in such a situation. "So basically, you ruin the lives of my dad, my mum, and everyone else that cared about, and then just dropped me off on the doorstep of your friend's house. You, being alive the entire time, and yet, you never contacted me or my… My dad" Her voice cracked as she whispered.

A look grew on Sherlock's face that John had never seen before! "No! Didn't you hear your father? I couldn't! I didn't want any of you to be hurt!" He was standing up now, going towards Miriam. She stood up just as quickly, and was advancing towards him as well!

"Yes I heard him! I heard how you were an unfeeling jerk that only cared about himself! You make it sound as if it were a "noble act" to fake your death, or a "noble act", that you left! And then you just show up after 15 years, and what? Expect everything to be all happy? Well, I want you to know, that I think that you are an absolute arse, Sherlock! An idiotic sociopath who cares about no one!"

They were now in each other's faces, Miri standing on her toes to reach his face. Sherlock seemed to be shrinking away from her, but she did not let up her assault of insults. "I think that you stayed away for so long because you wanted people to miss you! I think that you wanted them to spend every day, pining for you, just so that you could be the hero once more." Miri was yelling as loud as she could, letting loose. John stared at them in silence, not knowing what to say. It almost made him laugh how both of them sounded so similar. Both stubborn, with a quick temper.

"I want you out of my house." Miriam yelled, her face red from anger. Sherlock stood back, crossing his arms "Your house?" he inquired, a smug look crossing his face.

"Fine...my dad's house! Just leave!" Miriam pointed towards the door. John's heart sank...she was not going to like the point he knew Sherlock was going to make.

"I'm so sorry to tell you this, dear Miriam, but I shall not be leaving." Sherlock curtly replied through gritted teeth. Miriam looked completely taken back. She looked desperately at her father, expecting him to take charge.

"Miriam...I-I can't" John replied shaking his head. Miriam started to yell in protest, but Sherlock cut her off.

"You see, dear Miriam, this is my flat as well, and no matter how much you disapprove, I will be staying" Sherlock crossed his arms, clearly pleased with himself. Miriam looked dumbstruck, and for once everyone was silent. Miriam's silence did not last long however.

"God damn you!" Miriam yelled at Sherlock " God damn you, god damn this flat, and god freaking damn you dad!" With that, she stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her. John was silent, as was Sherlock.

"What a lovely child" Sherlock murmured sarcastically. John burst out laughing at the comment, not being able to contain himself anymore. Sherlock had finally met his match.


	12. Chapter 11

_Good news! I got a ton of editing done, so you guys will get a couple of chapters in one day! Yay! I hope you like it, and always, reviews are GREATLY appreciated! _

_-Anna _

Chapter 11

It had been about a week since Sherlock came back into John's life, and things really weren't going any smoother. After Miriam left, John went in search of her, finding her at a local coffee shop. She was insanely angry at him, and he could tell that she had been crying, although she hid it well. He had tried to calm her down, and she finally agreed to come home, but she had really not said much to either of them since. John knew that she was upset with him almost as much as she was upset with Sherlock. If anything, she would respond by glaring at them. She spent long periods in her room, and when she did emerge, another fight would erupt between her and Sherlock. They acted like small children, quarreling when they came in contact, and mostly refusing to speak to each other.

Sitting at the dining table, drinking tea, John waited for someone to get up. He hoped Miriam would be up so that he could try and talk to her, at least for a little bit, but alas, Sherlock was the first to come into the kitchen. John nodded a greeting towards him as Sherlock helped himself to the tea. John studied Sherlock's face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?" John asked, curious as to why his friend looked so haggard.

"Your daughter is what's wrong with me" Sherlock angrily replied. John cocked his head in confusion. "She blasts her god awful rock music at some unearthly hour every night! I've tried asking her, I've tried threatening her but she...she just ignores me!" John laughed. He had tried trading rooms with one of them, as both of their bedrooms were next to each other but, as both were stubborn, neither complied.

"But, Miriam doesn't listen to rock music." John stated, curious about his daughter's new interest.

"Well obviously she does because every morning at one o'clock, she blasts it, waking me up!" Sherlock stared at his tea, angrily stirring it. As John chuckled, he heard a noise stir from Miriam's bedroom. She soon walked, out, laptop in hand. Glaring at John as he said good morning, she grabbed an apple and plopped down on the couch. Opening her laptop, she began to type furiously, only stopping to glare at them after noticing that they were staring at her.

"What are you typing Miri?" John asked, wondering what his daughter was doing. She gave him no reply.

"Judging from the way she is typing, fast but with longer pauses, and from the facial expressions she is displaying, she is writing a book or perhaps a blo-" As Sherlock tried finish his sentence, Miriam leapt up from the couch, enraged. "You know what, Sherlock, how about you take your deductions and shove them up your arse." She crossed her arms and waited for the retaliation from Sherlock that she knew would come.

"Oh, please," He scoffed. "You can stop your childish attempts to insult me."

"You are beyond infuriating."

"Besides, it's obvious that you insult me due to your reluctance to display your emotions. You feel that if you bury your feelings by pretending to hate me, then you will never have to face them. It is simply cowardice." Miriam froze, and John could see the anger etched into her face.

"I hate you, Sherlock Holmes. You will never be my father. Never. You aren't good enough for me, or John, or my mom." She was clenching her hands tightly. John could see that Sherlock was preparing for another insult. "Enough!" John bellowed "That is enough! The both of you! You are acting like children!" The insults from both of them died as they stared at John. "Miriam whether you like it or not, Sherlock is staying with us. This is his house, and whether you acknowledge it or not, he is your father." Turning to Sherlock "And you. Things are not what you remember. I'm older, you're older, and I have a daughter to raise. You're just going to have to get used to that idea!" John stopped, looking at them. "Miriam, go get dressed" Starting to shout words of protest John cut her off. "No, I don't want to hear it. Get dressed. We are going out. Just you and I. We need to talk. Sherlock." He turned to face him. "I would like you to cool down. I am going out to talk to Miriam, and when I get back, I am talking to you." John muttered under his breath, "I might as well be your counselor. You guys should pay me." Miriam stormed to her room and slammed the door. In a moment she emerged, dressed, and walked directly out the front door.

"Miriam wait a second...I still have to get ready!" John yelled, they soon heard the slamming of the door to the building. Sherlock moved to the window, peering out.

"She's moving fast-you better hurry up, it doesn't look like she's stopping." John nodded in agreement, grabbing his coat. The world would just have to put up with seeing him in his pajamas. He leapt out the door, and jogged down the street. When he caught up to Miriam, he slowed to match her pace. She glanced over, and then did a double take. "Oh my God, dad! Are you in your pajamas?" He smiled. "Well, if you would have waited for me, I wouldn't be flaunting my slippers for the world would I?"

"Ugh, dad! You're so embarrassing!" She groaned, but was smiling at the same time. John looked at his daughter. That was the first time he had seen her smile for a while. They walked in silence for a few blocks before arriving at the coffee shop. Going inside, they sat down at a booth in the corner. Miriam played with a napkin, tearing its corners, as John searched for the words to say. He didn't expect Miriam to go on treating Sherlock like he was her father-in fact he didn't want her too-but Sherlock wasn't going to disappear.

"Miriam...I understand that you are having trouble accepting Sherlock as your father but-"

"No dad!" Miriam interjected "You don't understand! This is not easy for me! How would you react if your father, who had been absent your whole life suddenly showed up? I don't want him to be my father! I mean, knowing that someone just abandoned you… Knowing that no one wanted me..." John sighed, rubbing his temples. "Miriam. I wanted you. From the moment I saw you, you were my daughter. You always will be! I love you so much!" John paused "It's not easy for me either. I don't want to-lose you."

Miriam scoffed "Dad! Please! You won't lose me! Sherlock and I can hardly stand each other, so I don't exactly think that I'll be calling him 'Daddy' anytime soon. Besides-I already have a father. Nothing will ever change that." With a relieved sigh, John got up and wrapped Miriam in a tight embrace.

"Dad stop! You are so embarrassing!" Miriam laughed, muffled by his hug. He pulled back and smiled. "Geez. You're more emotional than a pregnant woman!" John let out a hearty laugh. Lately, every emotion that John had reserved for the last 15 years had broken out of him, making him an emotional mess. John motioned towards the door with his hand, pulling his coat closer to him.

"Alright Miri, let's get home...the world has seen enough of me in my pajamas. Miri laughed and she started to walk towards the door. "Oh, and Miriam. Promise you'll stop with the glaring and actually talk. And the rock music." John smiled "No matter how clever it is, it has to stop" Miri nodded, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.


	13. Chapter 12

_Hmm. So, I'd love your feedback on this new direction. Too cheesy? Let me know! BTW, if things are too cheesy, let me know! I love to be dramatic, but can sometimes go a little overboard. Just leave me a review, and I will work on making it better. :) _

_Thanks_

_-Anna _

Chapter 12

Sherlock sat in his old chair, reading the newspaper, as John bustled around, preparing for something. Things had gotten better at Bakerstreet since John and Miriam's little stroll. Sherlock was actually getting sleep, not being woken up every hour by loud music. Miriam had begun to speak, though most of it was towards John. The little that was spoken to Sherlock was only a sarcastic remark, tempting his anger.

"Ready?" John asked, smoothing his hair in the mirror.

"For what?" Sherlock asked in his usual condescending tone.

"You've forgotten?" John asked, turning to face him, an exasperated look spread across his face. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "It's parent-teacher conference at Miri's high school" John checked his watch "We have to be there in an hour.

"We? What do mean 'We'? I'm not going"

"Oh yes you are!" John demanded. "This is a PARENT-teacher conference and may I remind you that no matter how you two fight it, you ARE her parent!"

"I'm not going!"

Miriam stood outside homeroom, checking her phone every so often. _He should be here by now. _She watched as classmates dragged their parents from room, showing off their projects and introducing them to their teachers. She always hated these events. It made her realize how different her life was, and now, even more so. As she thought, she heard a loud clammer come from down the hall. Turning to look, she gasped. Her father strolled down the hall, annoyed, while Sherlock trailed after him looking equally upset. Miriam could hardly speak as her dad approached her. "Sorry I'm late hun...we had a little...issue to sort out." Miri was speechless as she looked from her father to Sherlock.

"What are you doing here?!" Miriam demanded at Sherlock. He turned to John.

"See! I told you. It simply would have been better if I had stayed home!" John looked around, noticing a few of the parents had begun to look curiously at them.

"Both of you will just have to put up with being in the same room together for one night...One night!" John hissed, trying to lower his voice "Now, we are going to go into that classroom and Sherlock, you are going to have to behave like a gentleman. No deducing, no snarky comments just be...normal!" John turned to Miriam "And you are going to ignore him, and anything he might say!" Sherlock looked at John, clearly offended. John spoke again "Be the nice child I know you to be!" Miriam rolled her eyes, and led them into her homeroom. After introducing them to her teacher, Miriam left so that they could discuss...her.

"Please" The teacher, said "Take a seat." John sat down, but Sherlock continued to stand. He was looking around the room, clearly studying everything. Realizing both John and the teacher were staring at him, he sat down.

"Well," Mrs. Hatfields began "What can I say about Miriam? She's a very smart, independent young lady." John smiled, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"But?" Sherlock asked. He paused, waiting for someone to understand his point. Rolling his eyes, he continued. "Your tone indicates you have something else to tell us. Something that is not good news, as you are nervously drumming your fingers. Furthermore, you would not have sent Miriam away if you only had positive things to tell us." Mrs. Hatfields looked a bit confused and uncomfortable at Sherlock's accusation.

"Well, yes, I suppose that you're right. While Miriam is a very nice girl, it's not all positive. Lately she has been a bit more quiet than usual, and while that's not something that is bad, it worries me because she also seems sadder." Mrs. Hatfields pursed her lips and continued. "What worries me the most is her complete change of character. She is usually a bit rude, and tries to run the class, but lately none of that has been happening."

"Isn't that good? She's finally learning to be tolerable." Sherlock stated annoyed

"Well, normally, but such a drastic change worries me."

"Well," stated John vaguely. "She has been going through some things at home lately…" John didn't want to go into the details. Sherlock continued to stare ahead, arms crossed, occasionally scoffing or muttering under his breath. Miriam's teacher glanced back and forth between them.

"Well, I wanted to encourage you to take her to a counselor," She said awkwardly, still trying to sound professional. "I really think that it could help her. I know a few that cou-" Sherlock cut her off.

"She is not going to a counselor. There is nothing wrong with her."

"Of course not! I-I'm just saying that she could benefit from talking to someone." Mrs. Hatfields said, flustered. "We don't wasn't this to turn into something severe."

"No," Sherlock replied stubbornly. John didn't understand Sherlock's strange reaction.

"Um, thank you," John said awkwardly. "We will look into it.

"No we won't," Sherlock muttered. John continued on like had hadn't heard him.

"Was there anything else?" John asked.

"Um, no… That's it…"

"Alright, well, thank you." John got up and pulled Sherlock with him. Leading them out of the room, they headed towards where Miriam had gone too. They walked in silence, not saying anything about the conference. Sherlock had a blank expression on his face, but John's was twisted in thought. He knew Miriam was upset, but did he really know how much? And why did Sherlock protest about counseling? He was acting almost-fatherly. Turning a corner, they spotted her. She was with a small group of girls, deep in discussion. To his knowledge, Miriam didn't have any good friends. John grew hopeful as he watched them talked. If she had a good friend, maybe then she would have someone to talk too. They wouldn't have to send her to a counselor, though he highly doubted they would anyways because of Sherlock's protests. As they got closer to them, Miriam broke off from the group and joined them.

"Miri, who are those girls? Your friends?" John asked, hopeful.

Miriam scoffed "Friends? Dad- I don't have friends...you know this." John rolled his eyes.

"A justified choice" Sherlock replied "Friends are useless. They backstab you or, people can use them to manipulate you" As he spoke, he glanced sideways at John, a smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, you speak from experience!?" John teasingly shouted! Miriam smiled, while Sherlock chuckled.

"I backstabbed you?" John questioned, clearly amused at Sherlock's comment.

"In more ways than you know!" Sherlock wittingly replied. They all chuckled as they left the school building. Hailing a cab, they all climbed into the cab, Miriam sitting between them. As the laughter ceased, she spoke.

"So...What did have to say about me?" Miriam wasn't stupid. Of course she would have known something was wrong, but John didn't know how to tell her. He stared at Sherlock, hoping his frank nature would clear the matter up but Sherlock turned from him, staring out the window.

"Well...she said that you are a very bright young lady-"John began.

"But?" Miriam said, cutting him off just as Sherlock had done to the teacher.

"Jesus! Can anyone speak with you two around?" The cab grew silent at John's outburst. "Miriam, your teacher thinks you are depressed. She claims that you have been acting strangely, and she suggested that we seek counseling for you." Miriam's face became expressionless, and she stared at her hands. Sherlock spoke immediately.

"But, we will not be taking you to counseling! That is a completely absurd notion. You are a perfectly normal-"

"No." Miriam stated, looking up. She turned to John "Maybe counseling wouldn't be a bad idea...maybe I do need to talk to someone." John stared at her dumbfounded. He had expected her to shout words of protest, or ignore him for the rest of the evening...but not this! Sherlock shared the same reaction as John. Miriam looked nervously between them, waiting for one to respond. Finally John spoke.

"Alright…" John murmured "I'll call the school tomorrow, and see who they suggest."

The rest of the cab ride home was silent, and when they arrived at Bakerstreet, Miriam hopped out of the car and headed straight up to her room. John handed the cabbie a tip and then faced Sherlock. They both said nothing, and headed upstairs. John opened the cupboard to make tea, and Sherlock sat down on the couch, flipping on the telly. As John stirred the steaming cup, he noticed that Miriam had wandered downstairs. She walked over to where Sherlock was sitting and stood, staring at him. He ignored her for a while, but finally realizing she wasn't leaving looked up at her.

"What?" he asked, annoyed.

"Thanks." she muttered. He looked at her in confusion "Thanks for thinking that-I'm normal...For thinking that I don't need counseling." As she finished, she turned and left, leaving Sherlock confused. Had Miriam really just said something civil to him? The same blank expression remained on Sherlock's face as she trailed up the stairs. John stayed in the kitchen, watching their interaction. Even though he was happy that they weren't yelling at each other, he was-jealous. He upset that he hadn't been the one to stand up for her. He should have told her she was fine; even if he knew she wasn't. John never told her that he thought she should go, but he never insisted she didn't. He didn't react like Sherlock. Hiding his thoughts, he went over and sat next to Sherlock.

"Well….it seems you two are becoming friends."

Sherlock scoffed at the comment with a cheeky grin. "Not likely".

Chapter 13

Miriam lay, sprawled out on her bed, her feet facing the headboard and her head hanging off the end. She had just walked home from her first meeting with her therapist. It had gone well. Miriam had enjoyed having someone to talk too. Someone who wouldn't yell at her, no matter how mad she got at her dad and Sherlock. She could finally get all of her anger out. What didn't go well was trying to convince the therapist that Sherlock Holmes was her biological father-and that he was alive. She had forgotten that the public still did not know about his miraculous "resurrection". Miriam laughed as she remembered the therapist's worried expression. Her dad would definitely be getting a phone call from him this evening.

Miriam heard a door slam downstairs, and hoped it was her dad. Sherlock had some random errand to run, and John had a job interview, so Miriam had to walk to her appointment. She had hoped he would be home by the time she arrived so she could tell him all about it but, he was not. Hearing the sound of someone coming up the stairs, she grabbed her homework and acted like she was working hard on it. It was Sunday, and her dad would be pissed if he knew she still hadn't done it. In a minute or so, a fist rapt at the door.

"Come in!" She said, preparing for the briefing she would have to give her dad on the appointment. To her surprise, a tall detective poked his head in.

"Oh…Hi?" She said, curious to why he had come to see her. Normally, they would ignore each other. "I thought you were dad—well, I mean you are but-I mean my real dad" She slammed her hand against her head. "The man that raised me-that guy" Miri said, pointing to a picture of her and John on her mirror. Sherlock chuckled. He walked into her room and stood looking quite uncomfortable. "Miriam I'm not your father. Biologically yes, but I did not raise you, therefore I do not have that parental title." she rolled her eyes. "Do you have to be so technical about everything?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. Miriam stared at him for a while, waiting for him to speak "So….not to be rude but- what are you doing in my room?"

"Ah yes…" Sherlock paused "How was the..erm..appointment?" Miriam gave him an odd look. Why did he care?

"Um..it was fine. But, I did have a rather difficult time trying to convince the therapist that you are alive. You know, no one really knows that you're back right? Uncle Lestrade...Dad mentioned something about you having a brother...no one."

"Yes, I suppose you're right...Lestrade should know."

"What about your brother?"

"Mycroft? He already knows...I wouldn't give him the joy of thinking that I was dead.

"I'm sensing that you two have wonderful relationship." Miriam sarcastically remarked. "When will I get to meet him?"

"Why would you want to do a thing like that?"

Miriam laughed "If I have an Uncle, I want to meet him! I've never had relatives before!"

"No Miriam, I shall spare you the pain of conversing with him...besides...you wouldn't like him."

"Is he anything like you?" Miriam asked.

"That is not how I would describe him," He scoffed.

"Then I would want to meet him." Miriam replied, frustrated with Sherlock's lack of compliance. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

"I'll leave you alone to pretend you're doing homework" Sherlock said over his shoulder. He walked down the stairs, and switched on his laptop. Even though he hated to admit it, Miriam was right. He would have to tell them sooner or later. Opening a blank email, he tried to type an email to Lestrade. Telling someone that you faked your suicide was not an easy thing to do. No, he wouldn't do it in person; he didn't want anyone blubbering over him. Shutting his computer, he stood up. He'd find a way to tell him later. Perhaps it was time to pay his brother a visit. Miriam was right. She did deserve to meet her uncle… No matter how irritating he was. He groaned and walked back upstairs. "Miriam?" He called through the door. He sighed. "I am going to see Mycroft. I must warn you, he is quite dull… But, if you would truly wish to meet him…" Miriam's door opened to reveal her standing with a smile. "Let's go."

"I am pleased to finally meet you in person, Miriam. I have been keeping tabs on you, as well as John since the incident 15 years ago. I couldn't contact you, of course. However, I am glad that we are meeting now." Mycroft sipped his tea. Miriam was sitting in a red armchair opposite of his. Sherlock was pacing, occasionally stopping to gaze out of the window. He had seemed to become nervous from the moment he stepped in the door. Miriam tried to focus on Mycroft instead of Sherlock's nervous pacing. It was starting to make her agitated.

"Well, it is nice to meet you too, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft leaned forward. "Actually, we have been monitoring many things about you over the past fifteen years…"

"Monitoring?" Miriam raised her eyebrow. Sherlock glanced over from the window, his forehead creased.

"We have been looking mostly at your grades, and classes and such."

"My grades?" Miriam didn't see where this was going.

"Yes, Miriam. According to our records, you are an exceptionally smart student. 4.0 GPA in your freshman year… You are in honors classes in pre-calculus, chemistry, and English. You are taking Latin language courses, as well as Mandarin. Your classes are very rigorous, and you seem like the type of student who challenges herself." He paused. Sherlock was trying to hide a smile. Miriam was more confused than ever.

"What do you mean? Why are you so interested in my academics?" Mycroft ignored her and went on.

"We have also been assessing your ability in dangerous situations."

"What?"

"Tests. Over the last few years, we have conducted few tests so that we could get a sense for your ability to handle different situations." Mycroft sipped his tea again, apparently not seeing Miriam gaping at him. He continued. "We conducted a test to monitor your ability in escaping from a dangerous situation. You remember, of course. Last year we sent an armed man to encounter you as you as you walked home. We had to do this a few times, in fact. You, as we found, are very good at reading people. You took very good precautions when you saw the man that we sent to follow you. You did so well, that you never even encountered him the first time we sent him! The second time, we sent a woman, hoping that we could throw you off. You avoided her as well. We finally got someone to meet you on the third try." Mycroft paused, as if waiting for her reaction. Miriam forced her mouth closed. She blinked hard to clear her head. "I- I remember… He… He grabbed when I was walking home from school one day last year… That- that was you?" She began to grasp what Mycroft was saying. He had sent an armed man to attack her last year… She couldn't believe it! She felt her face heat up with anger. Before she could explode, however, Sherlock's voice came from across the room.

"You sent a professional, armed man to _attack_ her?" His voice was calm, but his expression held anger.

"We needed to assess her."

"She could have been hurt."

"She was in no danger. It was a completely controlled situation!" Miriam could see that Sherlock was preparing an angry comeback, but she interrupted. She didn't want a heated argument. She needed to understand what was going on. "So, you had to assess my ability. Alright, I understand. Why? What would you benefit from this testing?"

"Since you are Sherlock's daughter, we wanted to see how much you behaved like him. We expected that you would not show many similar qualities, since he had not raised you. However, I were very surprised. You are very much like your father."

"John is my dad." Miriam interrupted.

"You showed many of the same qualities as _Sherlock_. I needed to see how far these qualities extended. I've seen how you observe. Am I wrong in guessing that you have some skill in deduction?" Miriam didn't answer, confirming his question.

"For what purpose have you been observing me?"

"We are hoping that you will eventually follow in Sherlock's footsteps. I believe that you will be able to assist in cases. Especially if we can train you more; especially in deduction and observation. We will also have to teach you basic defense."

"You want me to go to crime scenes?"

"Precisely." Mycroft sat back, as if waiting for her answer. Miriam glanced at Sherlock, surprised at his expression. He seemed almost proud of her… She turned back to Mycroft, a grin growing on her face.

"When can I start?"

"Now."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Miriam lay, sprawled out on her bed, her feet facing the headboard and her head hanging off the end. She had just walked home from her first meeting with her therapist. It had gone well. Miriam had enjoyed having someone to talk too. Someone who wouldn't yell at her, no matter how mad she got at her dad and Sherlock. She could finally get all of her anger out. What didn't go well was trying to convince the therapist that Sherlock Holmes was her biological father...and that he was alive. She had forgotten that the public still did not know about his miraculous "resurrection". Miriam laughed as she remembered the therapist's worried expression. Her dad would definitely be getting a phone call from the therapist.

Miriam heard a door slam downstairs, and hoped it was her dad. Sherlock had some random errand to run, and John had a job interview, so Miriam had to walk to her appointment. She had hoped he would be home by the time she arrived so she could tell him all about it but, he was not. Hearing the sound of someone coming up the stairs, she grabbed her homework and acted like she was working hard on it. It was Sunday, and her dad would be pissed if he knew she still hadn't done it. In a minute or so, a fist rapt at the door.

"Come in!" She said, preparing for the briefing she would have to give her dad on the appointment. To her surprise, a tall detective poked his head in.

"Oh..Hi?" She said, curious to why he had come to see her. Normally, they would ignore each other. "I thought you were dad...well I mean you are but...I mean my real dad" She slammed her hand against her head. "The man that raised me...that guy" Miri said, pointing to a picture of her and John on her mirror. Sherlock chuckled. He walked into her room and stood looking quite uncomfortable. "Miriam I'm not your father. Biologically yes, but I did not raise you, therefore I do not have that parental title." she rolled her eyes. "Do you have to be so technical about everything?" Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. Miriam stared at him for awhile, waiting for him to speak "So….not to be rude but- what are you doing in my room?"

"Ah yes…" Sherlock paused "How was the..erm..appointment?" Miriam gave him an odd look. Why did he care?

"Um..it was fine. But, I did have a rather difficult time trying to convince the therapist that you are alive. You know, no one really knows that you're back right? Uncle Lestrade...Dad mentioned something about you having a brother...no one."

"Yes, I suppose you're right...Lestrade should know."

"What about your brother?"

"Mycroft? He already knows...I wouldn't give him the joy of thinking that I was dead.

"I'm sensing that you two have WONDERFUL relationship." Miriam sarcastically remarked. "When will I get to meet him?"

"Why would you want to do a thing like that?"

Miriam laughed "If I have an Uncle, I want to meet him! I've never had relatives before!"

"No Miriam, I shall spare you the pain of conversing with him...besides...you wouldn't like him."

"Is he anything like you?" Miriam asked.

"That is not how I would describe him," He scoffed.

"Then I would want to meet him." Miriam replied, frustrated with Sherlock's lack of compliance. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

"I'll leave you alone to pretend you're doing homework" Sherlock said over his shoulder. He walked down the stairs, and switched on his laptop. Even though he hated to admit it, Miriam was right. He would have to tell them sooner or later. Opening a blank email, he tried to type an email to Lestrade. Telling someone that you faked your suicide was not an easy thing to do. No, he wouldn't do it in person; he didn't want anyone blubbering over him. Shutting his computer, he stood up. He'd find a way to tell him later. Perhaps it was time to pay his brother a visit. Miriam was right. She did deserve to meet her uncle… No matter how irritating he was. He groaned and walked back upstairs. "Miriam?" He called through the door. He sighed. "I am going to see Mycroft. I must warn you, he is quite dull… But, if you would truly wish to meet him…" Miriam's door opened to reveal her standing with a smile. "Let's go."

"I am pleased to finally meet you in person, Miriam. I have been keeping tabs on you, as well as John since the incident 15 years ago. I couldn't contact you, of course. However, I am glad that we are meeting now." Mycroft sipped his tea. Miriam was sitting in a red armchair opposite of his. Sherlock was pacing, occasionally stopping to gaze out of the window. He had seemed to become nervous from the moment he stepped in the door. Mirim tried to focus on Mycroft instead of Sherlock's nervous pacing. It was starting to make her agitated.

"Well, it is nice to meet you too, Mr. Holmes."

Mycroft leaned forward. "Actually, we have been monitoring many things about you over the past fifteen years…"

"Monitoring?" Miriam raised her eyebrow. Sherlock glanced over from the window, his forehead creased.

"We have been looking mostly at your grades, and classes and such."

"My grades?" Miriam didn't see where this was going.

"Yes, Miriam. According to our records, you are an exceptionally smart student. 4.0 GPA in your freshman year… You are in honors classes in pre-calculus, chemistry, and english. You are taking Latin language courses, as well as Mandarin. Your classes are very rigorous, and you seem like the type of student who challenges herself." He paused. Sherlock was trying to hide a smile. Miriam was more confused than ever.

"What do you mean? Why are you so interested in my academics?" Mycroft ignored her and went on.

"We have also been assessing your ability in dangerous situations."

"What?"

"Tests. Over the last few years, we have conducted few tests so that we could get a sense for your ability to handle different situations." Mycroft sipped his tea again, apparently not seeing Miriam gaping at him. He continued. "We conducted a test to monitor your ability in escaping from a dangerous situation. You remember, of course. Last year we sent an armed man to encounter you as you as you walked home. We had to do this a few times, in fact. You, as we found, are very good at reading people. You took very good precautions when you saw the man that we sent to follow you. You did so well, that you never even encountered him the first time we sent him! The second time, we sent a woman, hoping that we could throw you off. You avoided her as well. We finally got someone to meet you on the third try." Mycroft paused, as if waiting for her reaction. Miriam forced her mouth closed. She blinked hard to clear her head. "I- I remember… He… He grabbed when I was walking home from school one day last year… That- that was you?" She began to grasp what Mycroft was saying. He had sent an armed man to attack her last year… She couldn't believe it! She felt her face heat up with anger. Before she could explode, however, Sherlock's voice came from across the room.

"You sent a professional, armed man to _attack_ her?" His voice was calm, but his expression held anger.

"We needed to assess her."

"She could have been hurt."

"She was in no danger. It was a completely controlled situation!" Miriam could see that Sherlock was preparing an angry comeback, but she interrupted. She didn't want a heated argument. She needed to understand what was going on. "So, you had to assess my ability. Alright, I understand. Why? What would you benefit from this testing?"

"Since you are Sherlock's daughter, we wanted to see how much you behaved like him. We expected that you would not show many similar qualities, since he had not raised you. However, I were very surprised. You are very much like your father."

"John is my dad." Miriam interrupted.

"You showed many of the same qualities as _Sherlock_. I needed to see how far these qualities extended. I've seen how you observe. Am I wrong in guessing that you have some skill in deduction?" Miriam didn't answer, confirming his question.

"For what purpose have you been observing me?"

"We are hoping that you will eventually follow in Sherlock's footsteps. I believe that you will be able to assist in cases. Especially if we can train you more; especially in deduction and observation. We will also have to teach you basic defense."

"You want me to go to crime scenes?"

"Precisely." Mycroft sat back, as if waiting for her answer. Miriam glanced at Sherlock, surprised at his expression. He seemed almost proud of her… She turned back to Mycroft, a grin growing on her face.

"When can I start?"

"Now."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"What am I investigating?" Miriam bounced along beside Sherlock. Sherlock smirked at her excited behavior.

"A murder." He said it, a bit breathless. You could tell that he was excited to be on a case, no matter how small.  
"A murder? A bit stereotypical don't you think?"

"Well, a murder itself may be stereotypical but, I often find that murderers start to create curious situations. It's always a puzzle with the cases I solve."

"That's right. Like in that one serial suicide case. What was it again? A study in purple?"

"Pink….actually" Sherlock smirked "So, you've been reading your father's blogs?"

"Well-when I found out who you were I wanted to see what Dad was like before he adopted me."

"What did you discover?"

"Well, interestingly enough, I discovered that my dad was completely obsessed with you."

"He's not gay you know." Sherlock said, chuckling at the memories of all of Mrs. Hudson's accusations of John's sexuality.

"I know! That's not what I'm talking about. His whole life revolved around you. You were his best friend!"

"His what?"

Miriam stared at him in confusion

"...His best friend?" Sherlock did not respond "Please tell me you know what a best friend is!"

"I do...it's just, I never guessed that I would be one."

Miriam stared at him for a while, watching him as he looked at the floor.

"You're so weird." Miriam laughed, bouncing ahead of Sherlock. "Now, where are we going?" Scrunching up her face, she tried her best French accent "Where is zee scene of zee crime?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. Sometimes he could not believe that she was actually his daughter. Other times, there was no telling the two apart.

"Just right here." Sherlock replied, motioning down an alleyway where two policemen stood, pinning up yellow "caution" tape. As they turned down the alley, the two police officers looked up.

"Excuse me sir. You cannot be here." One said in a gruff voice "This area is under investigation." Rolling his eyes, Sherlock flashed an ID card in their direction. The police officer nodded his head. "Apologies Mr. Mycroft. The crime scene is right down that way." Slipping the card back into his pocket, Sherlock strode forward, Miriam following.

"Mr. Mycroft?"

"I pick pocket him when he's annoying" Sherlock replied casually. Grinning, Miriam looked up at Sherlock. Perhaps he wasn't as annoying as she thought. As they walked down the stretch of the alley, Miriam's phone began to ring. Slipping it out of her pocket, she looked at the caller ID; it was her dad.

"Don't pick up" Sherlock said over his shoulder.

"But it's my dad?"

"Yes I know." He replied, annoyed "I don't think he would be particularly happy to know his 15 year old daughter was investigating a murder scene. Besides...I need an assistant, and my usual one is not present." Miriam nodded her head, silencing her phone. As she slid the phone in her pocket, they came upon the scene; a gory, bloody scene.

Miriam's face paled as she looked around. There lay a body, floating in its blood. What was extremely peculiar that the eyes of the person were poked out, and the mouth was sewn shut.

"You aren't going to faint are you?" Sherlock said in his normal annoyed tone. Pushing the growing nausea down, Miriam forced a smile.

"No...I'm-I'm perfectly fine."

Sherlock pursed his lips, clearly not convinced.

Slipping on plastic glove, Sherlock knelt down next to the body. Miriam tried to concentrate and observe what was going on, but she still found herself wishing she could be anywhere but looking at this horrible mess.

"Don't worry…" Sherlock said in a less annoyed tone. "It will get easier as time goes on. Your first murder scene tends to be a bit unsettling."

Miriam offered up a meek smile, but continued to stand back. As she watched Sherlock observe the body, her phone buzzed again. It was her Dad. Knowing what Sherlock would say, she ignored it.

All of a sudden, a loud commotion came from where the police officers stood. A man was storming down to where Miriam and Sherlock were. As his face came into view, Miriam gasped.

"Oh shit." She whispered under her breath.

"I thought I told you not to use unnecessary swear words in my presence." As he spoke, Sherlock looked up. "Oh...I understand."

For the man coming towards them, was none other than Greg Lestrade. Sherlock ducked his head down, and Miriam looked frantically around for an exit.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing at my crime scene?" As he yelled, his eyes turned to Miriam "Miriam? What the hell are you doing here?"  
Miriam forced a smile "Erm...you see Uncle Greg I was just-just" As she struggled to find the words to use, Sherlock stood up spinning around.

"She was just with me."

Silence filled the alley as Lestrade stared at his face.

"You...you"

"Yes I'm alive."

"You bastard!"


	16. Chapter 15

p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12pt;"span style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman',serif; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"Chapter 15/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" After Lestrade had yelled till his voice was hoarse, he grabbed Miriam by the arm, and shoved her into his police car. Sherlock started to follow, but the door was shut, and Lestrade sped off. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""What the hell? You can't just leave him there!" Miriam yelled./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Don't raise your voice at me!" He yelled back, his face a bright red "You have no business being around him. For god's sake, what does he think he's doing taking a-child to a murder scene?" Focusing his attention back on the road, he began his rant again. "Just wait until your father hears about this. I don't think you realize what Sherlock did to all of us!" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Actually I do." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""How could you know?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" "All my life, my dad has had this fog around him, always effecting any bit of happiness! Now I understand. Sherlock was his best friend, and he left him. It would have been different if someone had shot him or something, but no. He committed suicide-or so you all thought. He chose to leave my dad—John, and that really hurt him!" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Then why are you hanging around him?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Because…" Miriam started to say, taking a deep breath "He's my father." The words stung Miriam as she said them. She had never actually admitted that Sherlock was her father-at least not while trying to defend him. He was her father-and he hadn't only abandoned John and Lestrade, he had abandoned her. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"The car went silent, and so it stayed the rest of the ride home. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"When the car pulled up to 221B Bakerstreet, Miriam hopped out of the car, running into the apartment and bounding up the stairs. She opened the door to see John, sitting on the couch nervously drumming his foot. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Miriam!" He said, sighing in relief. He got up quickly coming towards her. He started to say something, but stopped as Lestrade came into the room. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Did you know?" Lestrade demanded, red in the face. John looked curiously at him. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Did you know he was alive?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"John looked back and forth between Miriam and Lestrade, questioning her with his eyes. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Yes," John said nervously "I assumed he had already taken care of informing people…" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Evidently not." Lestrade said as he began to cool down. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Sorry, but, what happened?" John asked, clearly confused. No one spoke. "Well for god's sake, someone tell me! Where did you see Sherlock, and why is Miri with you?"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Sherlock evidently thought it was a good idea to take a fifteen year old to one of my murder scenes." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"John acted as if he were going to yell, but stopped, and simply buried his hands in his face. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"Miriam finally spoke up. "Can I go to my room?" br / John nodded and Miriam trotted up the stairs, looking back at the two before shutting her door./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Why didn't you tell me?" Lestrade questioned. Before John could respond, Lestrade continued "Why didn't you-kill him or something when you found out? I mean, honestly John. He's a total ass." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""You'll be relieved to know that I didn't take it lightly. Sherlock and I had our—issues. But I had to get over it for Miri." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""That's another thing! What the hell did Miriam mean when she said that Sherlock was her father?" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"John sighed. "She meant just that. Sherlock is Miriam's biological father." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Her what?"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Her…father"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"Lestrade stared at the wall for a while, digesting the information he had just gotten. How long had John known? How long had Miriam known? Why had this information been kept from him? /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"John studied his face. Even though Lestrade was a police officer, and was supposed to be trained to hide all emotion, his thoughts were clearly expressed on his face. His brow was knit in confusion, and his eyes stared off, clearly in a daze. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Greg? Does this confuse you?" John asked, awkwardly chuckling. He thought his explanation was pretty clear. Lestrade shook his head. He knew what John had said, but he was still in shock from it all. His anger, though explosive and seemingly endless at first, had melted down to shock. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Are you okay?" As John spoke, Lestrade looked up, scratching his chin. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""I'm fine. I just—I should probably go." As he spoke, he shuffled out the door, with an air of gloominess around him. John watched him shut the door, and turned to his thoughts. Why did Greg seem so bothered by this? /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;""Damn you Sherlock." John muttered under his breath as he rubbed his temples./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;"span style="font-size: 11.5pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;" /p 


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It was nearing dinner time, and Sherlock had still not made it home. Miriam still hadn't ventured down from her room, but the smells of tomato sauce wafted their way up to her room. Spaghetti. John's comfort food. It seemed these days, that's all they ate. John called for her to come set the table, so nervously, she bounded down the stairs. John glanced up at her, but then looked back down and continued to chop vegetables.

As Miriam folded the napkins, she looked up at John. He still had not said a single word to her. After staring at him for a while, Miriam finally summoned up the courage to speak to him.

"Dad?" She said gingerly. John looked up from what he was doing. "Are you mad at me?"

John sighed, looking fully at her.

"No." He said. "I'm mad at Sherlock. Why would he take a fifteen-year-old girl to a murder scene?"

"Well it wasn't completely him…" Miriam said slowly.

"What do you mean? Miriam, did you ask him to take you there?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. I didn't protest. But what I mean is that it wasn't Sherlock's idea. It was his brother's. Actually, I just think that I only went because Sherlock didn't want to stop back here." Miriam decided it would be best to keep the bit about Mycroft testing her abilities throughout the years. Her dad didn't really need to know about that…yet.

"So it was Mycroft's idea? Figures." John said, sighing halfway with relief. "Mycroft doesn't really know children. Not that Sherlock does. But I believe he knows when he is overstepping boundaries."

Miriam nodded in agreement, thinking about Sherlock's reactions to Mycroft's tests. He was oblivious to most things child related, but he knew enough to object to that.

"Why are you smiling?" John asked, curious at his daughter's reaction.

Miriam dropped the smile, almost as quickly as it appeared on her face.

"I'm thinking about how red Uncle Greg's face gets when he yells."

John chuckled at the comment in agreement.

Two hours, and three big plates of spaghetti later, John still sat at the dinner table, facing the door. Miriam had gone back up to her room quite soon after dinner, to finish some random homework assignment. John was left with the dishes, as usual, but also left to wonder where Sherlock was. It had been raining for nearly over an hour, so John assumed Sherlock had stopped somewhere to avoid the rain. Still—even though he knew he was fine, he couldn't help but worry. Finally, he heard the slam of the front door, and someone trudge up the stairs. Sherlock opened the door, dripping with rain and cuss words.

"Someone forget their umbrella?" Sherlock spun around at the comment, glaring at John.

"It was that ridiculous Graham. He stormed in and—"

"Greg! His name is Greg!" John said, shocked that Sherlock didn't know Lestrade's name.

"Whatever. Anyways, he comes storming into my crime scene, whilst I'm in the middle of investigating, and screams at me. Then, he rips Miri away from me, and leaves me to walk home." Stopping to calm down for a second, Sherlock looked around the flat. "Where is Miriam anyways? Did she get back alright?"

"She did…" John replied, "And arrived just about as angry as you are."

"But she's alright?"

"Of course Sherlock! She was with Greg."

"Oh, and about that business. Why is she calling him 'Uncle Greg'? He has no biological relations to her."

"Sherlock, it's just a nickname. Miriam started calling him that when she was a toddler."

Sherlock frowned at him, but started up the stairs.

"Wait…" John said, a worried tone in his voice. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock's face softened for a moment, "I'm fine."

Sherlock trailed up the stairs, stopping at Miriam's door. He heard the hum of music coming from inside. He quietly knocked, unsure if he wanted to talk to her or not. The music quieted, and Miriam opened the door. At first glance, he could have sworn it was Molly standing in the doorway. He stepped back for a moment. Miriam obviously looked like him, but for the first time, he saw a bit of Molly in her.

"You okay?" Miriam asked, a little concerned about the look that had grown on Sherlock's face.

"I um, I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Sherlock, I'm fine. Uncle Greg was just mad."

"No, I mean, you looked a little shaken up over the murder."

Miriam paled a little bit at the thought of it.

"I'm fine. I just need to get used to it a little bit." Sherlock nodded his head in understanding, and quietly murmured goodnight, before walking into his room. Miriam stood in the doorway, a bit taken aback by his behavior. What was this sudden change of heart in him? Why did he care so much if she was alright?


End file.
